A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

Robin was anxiety and nerves personified as they waited for the archery competition to start. He ran his fingers over his bow compulsively, checking the string, the grip, and then rechecking. If his quiver hadn’t been confiscated after the first time he started fretting over the fletching he had deemed acceptable the previous day, he would probably be looking for glue and feathers.

The Flowstone Yard had once again had an archery range erected within it, replacing the axe throwing area that had been present the day before. There was only one designated shooting area this time, but there looked to be other targets waiting to be carried on after the basic ring targets had served their purpose. The sun was shining, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Robin said.

“Don’t do it at me,” Toby said, arms crossed.

Naerys rubbed Robin’s back, and Keladry wore a sympathetic expression across the table from him. They were seated at another pavilion, like had been set up for the axe, but this time it was one of three. It seemed that the archery was held in higher regard, and there were more nobles spectating and a larger crowd besides.

“Remember, it doesn’t matter if you win or not,” Steve said, helping himself to some delicate little sweetcakes. “You’re here to have fun.”

Some of their neighbours, a group of minor nobles from some kingdom or another, gave Steve a slightly scandalised look, but he ignored them.

Robin was looking scandalised too. “If I’m not aiming to win, what’s the point?”

“I didn’t say don’t try to win, I said it doesn’t matter if you don’t,” Steve said. “If you win, great, that’s ten thousand dragons in your pocket. If not, at least you showed your skill and did your best.”

“Right, still got that job with the stuffy noble and all that,” Robin said, remembering their conversation from the other day. He began to look a bit better.

“That’s right,” Steve said.

A whistle caught their attention, and there was a surge of conversation as the spectators realised the first round was about to start. Robin immediately began to look green again, mouth beginning to retch.

Keladry took up her cup and threw its contents in his face, setting him to spluttering. “Don’t dawdle,” she ordered. “Get out there, make your bullseyes, and come back.”

“Right,” Robin said, more to himself than anything. “I’ll go do that.”

They watched him go, making his way from the pavilion to the area the targets had been set up at. A servant directed him to join a line and he did, visibly fretting.

“He’ll be alright,” Steve said.

“I’d like to cheer him on, but I think he’d throw up,” Naerys said.

“Once he nocks an arrow, he’ll be fine,” Keladry said. “I know I was panicking before my joust.”

“Truly?” Naerys asked. “You looked so calm.”

Keladry nodded. “I had not jousted before anything larger than a hedge knight’s tourney before,” she said. “I am lucky Redbloom was there for me. All was fine once I couched my lance, however.”

Steve remembered Keladry looking like a seasoned veteran, but he supposed her poker face was just that good.

“Rob’s up,” Toby said, standing up on his bench seat for a clearer view.

They watched as Robin reached the front of his line. Beside him were other archers of all stripes, some noble, others clearly not, all taking their shots at their own targets. They were noted down by a servant, and then sent on their way. Most seemed decent enough, they’d have to be to be willing to front up the entry fee, but no one was standing out to Steve.

Robin stabbed four of his five arrows into the earth, and took a breath. His jitters fell away as he looked down the shaft of his first, and then he let it go. It hit just outside the bullseye but he didn’t pause, already reaching down for the next arrow, nocking, drawing, loosing. This time, it hit the centre ring. He repeated his feat three more times, and after the last, turned with a wide smile and a much more relaxed bearing. He spoke to the attendant briefly, and began to head back to the pavilion.

“Good job Robin,” Steve said as the kid reached them. Naerys patted him on the back as he retook his seat.

“I think I’m through to the next round,” Robin said, slightly short of breath. “But I’m not sure.”

“I think your chances fair,” Keladry said. “Four of five bullseyes are better than most I’ve watched.” She nodded towards the ongoing shooting.

“How long till the next?” Toby asked. He wasn’t bored, but his eye was roving for something to do.

“Just until everyone has made their attempt, and then they’ll call us up again if we’re through,” Robin said. “A short enough wait, I reckon.”

“Do you know what the next round is?” Naerys asked.

Robin shook his head.

“I would guess it to be a harder challenge, like the axe throwing provided,” Keladry said.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Steve said, casting his eye about for more food to sample.

“I might go and scope out the competition,” Steve said. “See what you can expect.”

Robin immediately began to worry again. “Do you think I should come too? I don’t want to be caught-”

“Eat,” Keladry demanded, placing a pastry before him.

Robin grumbled but obeyed, staying in his seat as Steve left the pavilion behind, heading out to join the crowd watching the archers. At his height, he was a head above most other people, and able to watch easily.

His eye was caught by a man in a flamboyant outfit with a feather of some kind in his cap, taking slow and dramatic shots at his target. He paused to accept the cheers of a group of hangers on after each shot, but every one was a bullseye all the same.

There were other archers who were doing well, landing consistent shots, but none stuck out to Steve as being in Clint’s league.

“Where’s that monster bow of yorn, eh?”

Steve glanced back over his shoulder at the voice addressing him. It was Richard, the bald archer he had kept running into at the archery butts. “Not needed,” he said. “Archery isn’t my event.”

“That’d be the axe, wouldnnit?” Richard asked. He waggled his hairless eyebrows at Steve, stepping up beside him. He was half leaning on his bow, his back stooped.

“Not quite,” Steve said, white teeth flashing in a smile. “Have you made your shots yet?”

“Got in right quick I did,” Richard said. “Reckon I’ll see that boy of yorn in the next round too.”

“Good luck,” Steve said.

“No luck but skill sonny,” the old man said. He ambled off, heading for a table laden with food at the edge of one of the pavilions.

Steve frowned, once again struck by a vague sense of familiarity.

It was on the tip of his tongue, when the whistle sounded to draw the attention of the competitor’s once more. They gathered, some looking nervous, others confident, but most somewhere in between. Steve pushed the matter to the back of his mind. It would come to him when it did.

The maester in charge, not Baldrich this time, began to read out the names of those who had advanced, and Steve listened as the crowd hushed. They seemed to be going alphabetically.

“--Richard of Duskendale, Robin Longstride, St--”

Steve grinned, hearing Robin whoop. He made his way back over to his group, reaching them as the names were finished and the next round was announced. Toby was sitting on Keladry’s shoulders, observing the crowd from his vantage point.

“The second round is a test of speed and accuracy,” the maester called from atop a wooden box. “Archers will begin with their backs to the target; they will turn and shoot a single arrow. The swiftest bullseye will advance to the third round; if there should not be one, both archers will be eliminated. The round will begin shortly.” He stepped down, and servants began to carry targets onto the archery lanes.

Unlike the first basic set, these were smaller, and instead of painted straw, they seemed to be chalked in alternating colours, black and yellow. There were much fewer targets than before, and they were placed in pairs, but with more distance between them otherwise.

Robin was panicking again. “I didn’t practise for this. I’ll turn and hit a judge, or worse, miss entirely.”

“Sure you have,” Steve said, ignoring Robin’s priorities. “Every time you hunt and have to react quickly when a rabbit runs for cover you’re using the same skills you need here.”

“Right,” Robin said, calming. “Of course.”

Steve and Naerys shared an amused glance at this new side to Robin, but held their tongues. They spoke and discussed the competition as a group, keeping Robin from fretting until it was his turn to shoot. As they did, they watched as pair after pair made their attempts, observed by keen eyed judges. Each target was chalked, and with each pair a judgement would be made over which colour cloud had been seen first. Sometimes the impact was too close to call, and so accuracy would be the final determiner, but sometimes both would miss the bullseye, and they would slump off, dejected. In time, Robin was called forward for his attempt.

He wasn’t up against any of the more notable archers Steve had seen, instead a young noble boy a bit younger than himself. As before, Robin seemed to fret up until he nocked his arrow, at which time a calm fell over him, and he stilled like a hunter in wait for his prey.

Robin and his foe watched their attendant like hawks, waiting for the man’s arm to come down. After a long moment, it did, and they both spun in place and loosed their arrows. Two puffs of chalk erupted, and two bullseyes were landed.

The judges conferred, but Steve was already smiling, and when they pointed at his target, Robin was smiling too. He took a moment to offer his hand to the younger boy, and they clasped arms, before going their separate ways.

“Well done,” Keladry said, still looking as reserved as ever, even with Toby riding her shoulders.

“Thanks,” Robin said. He looked flushed, his blood up with excitement.

“Only one round to go now,” Naerys said.

“Do you think they’ll have us shoot pigs, like they did for the axe?” Robin asked.

“I don’t see a setup like they had for that,” Steve said, “but who knows.”

The second round continued, the number of competitors steadily whittled down. Where they had started the first round with hundreds, the second had seen perhaps one hundred and eighty, and that was being slashed in half at the very least. It wasn’t common to see a full pair eliminated, but it did happen, nerves or eagerness getting in their way.

Soon, it was time for the final round.

The forefront of the crowd seemed to be reserved for the companions of the archers by unspoken agreement, eliminated contestants slipping away with their party bit by bit. As they waited for the announcement, Steve found his gaze drawn to Richard where the man waited nearby. He was talking quietly with what Steve assumed to be his daughter, a young woman with muddy brown hair and pale skin. She glanced over towards Steve, met his eyes for a moment, and then looked away.

Steve’s brows shot up. He recognised her. Last time he had seen her, she had surrendered her bow and was helping Fletcher Dick limp away from the fight between Kingsguard and Kingswood Brotherhood. She was Wenda the White Fawn, and that made ‘Richard’ Fletcher Dick.

Wenda’s gaze traveled back to him casually, and she met his raised brows. She paused and swallowed, before her gaze moved on. She made no motion that suggested she was getting ready to run, but she did mutter something to ‘Richard’, and the man stiffened, his stooped back straightening for a moment, before he relaxed.

Perhaps if he had recognised them earlier, he could have spoken to them in a spare moment, but the maester was already stepping back on his box to announce the details of the final round.

“We have seventy seven competitors remaining,” the maester announced, “an auspicious number. The final round consists of three stages, and each stage will see eliminations.”

As he spoke, nine gibbets were carried out onto the range behind him, replacing the chalked targets from before. Instead of a noose hanging from each, however, there was a wooden ring on a lead. To Steve’s eye, the first five hung by a thin rope, the next three by one even thinner, and the final by a piece of string. Each bobbed and jiggled in the breeze after they were placed, but it was clear that they would be progressively harder to hit.

“We have rings of birch, willow, and reed,” the maester said, “and each archer must send an arrow through one to proceed to the next. You will have three shots on the birch, two on the willow, and one on the reed.”

Low murmuring spread through the crowd. That would be a difficult task. As if taunting them, the breeze picked up, setting the rings to dancing. The maester began to call out names five at a time for the first level of difficulty.

Steve turned to Robin.

“Huh,” the kid said, staring at the rings. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“You can do it,” Naerys said.

“I’ll give it my best shot, at least,” Robin said, eyeing the targets. He seemed almost entranced by the way the reed ring fluttered about in the wind.

“--Robin Longstride--”

Robin went to make his attempt alongside four others, including Fletcher Dick, and Steve realised it was luck that saw him up against the noble boy and not ‘Richard’ in the previous round. They seemed to be working backwards through the list this time, given how early the R’s were going, and he held his breath as Robin drew back the first of his three attempts at the birch.

“Take your time,” Keladry said, mostly to herself, even as Toby leaned forward with his hands planted on her crown.

The other archers made their shots, cursing as they missed and prepared another arrow, but still Robin waited, scarcely breathing. He exhaled and released, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

His arrow soared cleanly through the birch ring and he turned to them, beaming.

Two spots along, Fletcher pursed his lips, acknowledging the shot, before making his own first attempt. In one motion he drew and fired, also making the first shot, before hobbling back over to Wenda.

Robin and Fletcher were the only two from their group to make their shots, and that set the tone for the rest of them. Amongst those who succeeded was the flamboyant archer Steve had seen earlier, his companions still cheering him to an almost gauche degree. Some forty odd archers were eliminated by the birch ring, three attempts not enough to see them through to the next, and soon it was time for the willow.

They were called up three at a time now, a respectful hush falling over the crowd each time. Nerves had clearly gotten to some, this style of challenge apparently not a common one, as some overthought the process or even just fired their arrow while hoping for the best.

Again, Fletcher found the ring with an almost casual ease on his first attempt, securing his right to attempt the reed ring, but he was one of few. The dandy was the other, and Steve found himself frowning at the man’s followers as they ignored the respectful quiet that the crowd would fall into as archers prepared for a shot.

Finally, it was Robin’s turn, and he stepped up. He drew his first arrow, holding it for a long moment as he sighted it in. He loosed - and missed.

Toby groaned, but for the crowd this was par for the course. Only two archers had beaten the willow so far, and it was looking more and more like it would come down to them.

Robin was calm as he drew back his second shot, no hint of his earlier nerves on his face. Again he nocked and drew, breathing steadily. He loosed - and made it, the arrow just squeezing past the edge of the ring. He punched the air, almost skipping back towards the group as Toby hollered his support, almost as loud as the dandy’s cheer squad on his own.

No other archer managed the willow, and it was down to Fletcher, Robin, and the dandy against the reed ring.

The crowd seemed to swell, as those in the pavilions joined them and tried to angle for the best point of view they could get for the final three. Anticipation was heavy in the air, and ten thousand gold dragons were on the line to be decided by three arrows.

Fletcher went first, stepping up when called. The ease in his frame present in previous rounds was entirely gone now, his concentration bent upon his next shot. Considering he stood to gain more from this shot than in all his time with the Kingswood Brotherhood, Steve found that reasonable.

With a twang, Fletcher fired his arrow. The reed ring almost seemed to leap into its path, and the ex bandit let out a breath. The crowd was almost silent, still on tenterhooks, anticipation ever building.

Robin was called forward, and Fletcher gave him a nod as they passed. Robin returned it absently, rolling his single arrow between his fingers. He stared at the reed ring for a long moment, head cocked to the side. His movements were sure as he drew his bow, his breath even. He took his time, waiting for the wind to settle.

He missed.

Barely, the ring just juking out of the way in an errant breeze, but he missed. He sagged, and the crowd groaned, but when he turned, he wore a wide grin on his face, and he clasped his hand to the white star that adorned his breast.

“Well done Robin Longstride,” Steve called, voice booming across the field.

Robin ducked his head, but his grin widened even further if that was possible, and he hurried back to them as the crowd applauded and cheered him briefly, before falling quiet once more.

It was the Dandy’s turn now, and he strutted up to the marker to take his shot. Steve didn’t like to cheer against people, and he was sure the man could be perfectly nice, but he found himself hoping just a little for a missed shot.

It was not to be. Dandy put his arrow through the reed ring with great care, before turning to accept the applause of his retinue.

Mutterings and discussion swept the crowd, wondering what would happen next. Would they shoot again, until someone missed, would the prize be split, or was there another round prepared for this eventuality? The gibbets were carried off, answering one of these questions. The maester made his way back in front of the crowd, and climbed back atop his box.

“We have a tie in the final round,” he called out, “and so we will have a tiebreaker.” An attendant handed a box to him, and there were holes in its sides. “In this box, there is a dove. The winner will be the man to shoot it down after the box is opened. Is this understood?” He peered at the final two contestants.

“Aye,” Fletcher called out.

“Perfectly,” Dandy said.

Hopping off the box he stood upon, the maester had it carried down the lanes, past where the gibbets had stood. The dove’s cage was placed upon it, some thirty paces away.

As this happened, a hawk cried out, its cry high and piercing. Something about it sounded off though, and Steve glanced up into the sky. He couldn’t see it anywhere.

The maester called to check the readiness of the final two, and they answered, arrows nocked and ready. The maester gave a nod to an attendant who stood next to the box, and the man readied himself to open the box.

Three things happened, almost at once. The cage was opened, offering freedom for the dove. The hawk cried again. The archers fired as one.

The Dandy’s arrow skimmed the top of the box, perfectly positioned to hit the dove as it flapped its way to false freedom - but there was no dove to be seen, for it was hiding from the hawk. Fletcher’s arrow pierced the box dead centre.

The moment stretched out, and nobody spoke. Then, the attendant who had opened the box stepped back up to it and peered inside. He looked to the maester with a befuddled expression, but he nodded.

All eyes turned to the maester. He pondered for a heartbeat. “The box is open, and the dove is slain. Richard of Duskendale is your victor.”

The crowd roared, thrilled by the end of the competition, and many swarmed forward to surround Fletcher. He was besieged by well wishers, but with the help of the maester and some servants, eventually managed to extract himself from them, and was led over to a young man in armour with black and yellow accents under one of the pavilions. Wenda joined him, and they spoke for a short while, much as Steve had with Wylis Whent after the axe throwing.

While all this was happening, Robin found himself subject to his own congratulations.

“That was some good shooting out there,” Steve said.

“Thanks,” Robin said, happily.

Naerys beamed at him. “Your family would be proud.”

“Y’not gonna throw up now, are ya?” Toby asked.

Keladry placed a hand on her ward’s head. “They’re right. You made an excellent showing.”

“That Richard fellow is good,” Robin said. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before.”

“Yeah, he’s something,” Steve said. Something of his thoughts must have come through in his tone, because Naerys gave him a curious look. “Third place is nothing to sneeze at though. We should have a celebration.”

“Third place has got to be worth a cup of Arbor Gold,” Robin said, tone wheedling.

“We’ll see,” Steve said, promising nothing.

Robin turned his gaze on Naerys, who responded with a raised eyebrow.

“Did you want to go to the feast tonight, or the tavern?” Steve asked.

“Hunter’s Hall,” Robin said, making a face at the thought of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths. Something caught his gaze beyond the crowd. “I just wanna grab something before we leave.” He took off, threading through the crowd.

Steve spied Fletcher and Wenda finish their conversation with the Whent, and saw his opportunity. “I need to speak with someone too. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“We’ll wait by the pavilion,” Keladry said.

The pair of archers saw Steve as he approached, and he saw them tense. Almost casually, Fletcher seemed to notice some dish on the other side of the pavilion, away from the spectators that still mingled nearby, and approached it, Wenda at his side.

“Richard,” Steve said by way of greeting. He turned to Wenda.

“Gwendalyn,” she said shortly.

“Gwendalyn,” he acknowledged. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Well, I did jus’ see yeh at the range a few days back,” Richard said.

Steve gave him a look.

“Worth a shot,” Fletcher said, pursing his lips and dropping the accent. “What now?”

“Figured I’d congratulate you on your win,” Steve said.

Wenda eyed him, shifting from foot to foot. She seemed unsure if she wanted to keep him in sight at all times or to turn and flee.

“That boy of yours has potential,” Fletcher said.

“Yeah, Robin’s a good shot. He’ll go far,” Steve said.

“Might be as good as me soon,” Fletcher said.

“Is this really the conversation we’re having?” Wenda, the White Fawn, said, almost forcing the words out.

“What’s wrong with a friendly chat?” Steve asked.

“You’re a king’s man,” Wenda said. “You killed more than a few of our friends.”

“Well, they were bandits,” Steve said mildly. Then he frowned, and Captain America spoke. “I also killed the Smiling Knight. The only reason we’re having a conversation instead of something less polite is because you never raped and pillaged those who couldn’t defend themselves.”

Wenda swallowed.

Fletcher leaned forward, subtly putting himself closer than Wenda. “So what, you’re just gonna let us go?”

“I’m not going to extort you out of your winnings if that’s what you’re wondering,” Steve said.

“Mighty kind of you,” Fletcher said.

Steve eyed them for a long moment, before sighing. “I didn’t want to make you feel threatened. I’m just here to talk.”

“About what?” Wenda asked.

“About what you’re doing here, where you plan to go next,” Steve said, “if you plan to rob anyone on your way there, that sort of thing.”

“Be a mite foolish to try rob someone for a few coins when we’ve got a few thousand in our pockets,” Fletcher said.

“I’ll be heading to Braavos myself,” Steve said. “I’ve heard good things about the Iron Bank. Could be safety in numbers getting there.”

Fletcher and Wenda exchanged a glance.

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, but we’ve got plans of our own,” Fletcher said.

“What kind of plans?”

“The kind that involve vanishing into the night,” Wenda said.

“Fair enough,” Steve said. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give Robin some archery lessons before you do.”

“You suppose right,” Fletcher said, snorting. “We’re rich folk now, hadn’t you heard? Don’t need to shoot for our dinner.”

“What about for your old bows?” Steve said.

“We’re not that attached to them,” Wenda said. “‘Sides, Fletcher told me you were putting mine to good use anyway.”

“I guess that’s that then,” Steve said.

The pair seemed to tense, whatever small ease they’d gained over the conversation vanishing.

“Oh,” Steve said, as something else occurred to him. “Ulmer is still alive and kicking.”

“How in the Seven Hells did he manage that?” Fletcher asked, taken off guard.

“He volunteered to take the Black,” Steve said.

“Poor bastard,” Wenda said.

“He’s alive at least,” Fletcher said. “Mebbe we can send him a bottle of Dornish Red from time to time.”

“I spoke with him in the dungeons before I left the Red Keep,” Steve said. “He seemed pleased you’d gotten away.”

“I owed him a few stags, too,” Wenda said. “No doubt he’ll bring it up first chance...if we sent him a letter, I mean.”

“Uh huh,” Steve said. “Well, you take care of yourselves.”

“We will,” Fletcher said. He nudged Wenda.

“An’ you,” she said, after a moment. The pair of them still looked a touch befuddled, as if they weren’t quite sure things were going the way they were.

Steve turned and left them to their own devices, his brow creased in thought as he considered the whole situation. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing, really. One the one hand, they had broken the laws of the realm, robbing and stealing. On the other hand, all they had done was rob and steal, and while Steve didn’t much care for people who took from others, they hadn’t exactly been stealing from the poor. Maybe it was the whole ‘nobility’ thing that had him more willing to let the pair of (hopefully) ex-bandits go free. Some were decent enough fellows, like Ned and Ashara, but more and more seemed to be in the mold of Bar Emmon, Hayford, Stokeworth, and Longwaters, the list going ever on. If he’d been born here under a lord like any of them, he would’ve had a few stern words for them before long.

Of course, if he’d been born here he’d still probably be a sickly twig, so maybe those stern words wouldn’t have gone too well for him. He shook his head, casting the thoughts from his mind as he returned to his friends.

“Ready to go?” Naerys asked, looking away from Robin.

“Sure,” Steve said. His eyes were caught by what Robin had with him. “Is that..?”

Robin nodded, holding up the reed ring from where he had been showing the others. “I need to practise if I want to get better, so I asked if I could grab it and the maester said yes.”

“Good man,” Steve said approvingly.

Robin beamed.

“Now I don’t know about you, but I’d say this calls for a celebration,” Steve continued. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s worth a sugared blackberry tart like Toby got after the horse race,” Robin said.

“You might be right,” Steve said.

Robin nodded, his smile widening even further, before he paused, peering at Steve, like a child suspicious of Santa on Christmas eve. “What about that Arbor Gold though?”

“Maybe the one,” Keladry said, cutting in.

“Hang on,” Toby said. “‘Ow come I didn’t get to have one of them?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Toby grumbled at Keladry’s tyrannical nature, and the group began to make their way back to their rooms. They would rest for a while, and then celebrate. Robin had earned it.

X x X

As eager as they were to get to celebrating Robin’s achievement, it was still too early in the day to descend upon Hunter’s Hall. Instead, they returned to their suite to relax and unwind. Steve had vague thoughts of sharing some of Clint’s old practice routines with Robin, but his plans were dashed when Lyanna the servant girl intercepted them halfway up the tower and made off with Robin and Toby. It was a much quieter trio that made it back to their rooms and out from under the curious looks that seemed to be growing with each passing day.

“Not being famous was nice while it lasted, I guess,” Steve said as he closed the front door behind himself. “Do you suppose this is just a Harrenhal thing?”

There was no reply and he glanced up in time to see the two women sharing a somewhat startled look.

“How do you mean, Steve?” Naerys asked, taking a seat in a chair to the left of the room.

“People are starting to recognise us, it feels like,” Steve said, leaning down to untie his boots. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Keladry approach the table over to the right side and gather up a bolt of navy blue cloth that hadn’t been there when they left that morning.

“You and your retinue have all made impressive showings in each event you entered,” Naerys said. “It’s only natural that people would take note.”

Keladry disappeared into the hallway that led to the bedrooms as Steve finished removing his boots. “I guess I was enjoying the lack of attention,” he said.

“Would you rather avoid doing things that draw more attention to you?” Naerys asked, hesitant.

Steve thought on it for a bit. “I don’t like fame for fame’s sake, but I’m long used to handling it,” he said. “I suppose it can be useful, if you set it at the right task.”

Keladry returned as he spoke, and the women shared a glance.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Naerys said.

With time to spend, they set about occupying themselves with what tasks needed doing. Steve and Keladry saw to their equipment, while Naerys recounted the lockbox full of gold coins that had become her responsibility. Time passed, and duties were exchanged for hobbies, Keladry announcing that she would return to her room to nap, while Naerys sunk into a book she had already read twice and whose price she refused to share, while Steve opened his artbook to a new page and began to sketch. Slowly, the image in his mind’s eye began to form, as he whittled away the hours in good company.

Some time later, the return of Robin and Toby was heralded by the stampede of footsteps that slowed only when they reached the suite door. Steve could make out a muffled exchange of words, before the door opened, and the two boys entered.

“Get up to much trouble?” Steve asked.

They paused, sharing a guilty glance, hesitating long enough for Naerys to glance up from her book with narrowed eyes.

“Of course not, milord,” Robin said.

“Shame,” Steve said. He put a few finishing touches on his sketch, but the boys stayed in place rather than continuing to their room or taking a seat. “What’s going on?”

Both boys seemed to be trying to subtly elbow the other, before Robin surrendered and spoke. “I wanted - that is, we were wondering if it would be appropriate for Lyanna to join us at the tavern.”

“Your friend Lyanna?” Steve asked. The boys nodded, trying not to seem too eager. He knew the three of them had been running off to hang out when they had the time, but this didn’t feel like a casual request for the kids to spend more time together. There was probably some noble appearance thing going on. He glanced at Naerys, and she offered a minute shrug.

Steve felt an evil impulse. “Look at you,” he said. “Already courting a young dame.” Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Robin blushed horribly, and Toby screwed his face up.

“I don’t see a problem with that. Sure, bring her along,” he said.

Rather than answer, Robin ducked back outside, and a conversation ensued.

“I don’t think he wants to court her,” Toby said.

“I’m just teasing, Toby,” Steve said.

“Pretty sure they just want to fuck,” the boy continued.

Steve choked for a moment, and Naerys held her book over her face in despair.

“Keladry would wash your mouth out with soap,” she said.

“There’s a reason I said it when she’s not here,” he said, grinning impudently.

Robin returned, cheeks still red but with a smile on his face. “Lyanna will meet us at the tavern later.”

“You might as well get changed then,” Steve said.

Toby and Robin departed, the younger boy trailing behind Robin, and Steve turned to Naerys with a raised brow. “Is there a reason they were so concerned about asking me that? Some noble peasant divide?” he asked.

“There is an expected distance,” Naerys said. “Robin was right to ask, or else he’d risk reflecting poorly on you.”

“I’m not sure how much I like that,” Steve said.

“The matter isn’t helped by their uncertain station in your retinue, to be honest,” Naerys continued.

“How’s that?”

“Robin was hired as a manservant, but you’re teaching him self defence and supporting him in martial contests,” she said. “It isn’t how things are commonly done.”

“I don’t think there’s much ‘common’ about this retinue at all,” Steve said.

“We don’t quite match the expectations of the nobility, no,” Naerys said, lips quirking.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Steve asked, beset by a sudden concern. “I know I can get the bit between my teeth sometimes, but -”

Naerys snorted. “Traveling with you has given me more than enough confidence to speak up about that which I am uncomfortable with.”

“I rely on you to tell me about how things are done here, but I feel like I ignore what you say half the time anyway,” he said.

“I may have been worried about that when we first met, but now…” Naerys shook her head. “Seeing you ignore and walk through their ‘niceties’ brings me joy.”

“Here I thought I was being polite about it.”

“I’m sure Longwaters felt differently at the feast,” Naerys said, smirking now. “He was listing his lineage and you just -” she put on a deep voice, “‘I don’t actually care’ - he hadn’t a clue what to say.”

“Well, so long as you’re sure. I value your advice, Naerys.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she said. There was a faint colour to her cheeks. “And thank you for all you’ve done for me. I don’t think I’ve said it before.”

Steve waved her off. “It’s just what any decent person would have done.”

“I’m not sure any ‘decent person’ would teach a bastard girl and a smallfolk boy to fight, entrust the girl with his coin, secretly harbour a lady warrior and her horse whispering mountain clan ward,” Naerys said, voice drier than the desert.

Steve pulled a face. “Bastard, smallfolk, lady, mountain clan. That’s just an excuse.”

“No difference between a peasant and a king but the circumstance of their birth,” she said, quoting their conversation the previous night. As she spoke, Keladry reemerged to join them, taking a seat across the room.

He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “I’m going to make enemies over this one day,” he said, tone serious.

“‘One day’? What would you call those Crownlanders?”

“Annoyances,” Steve said.

“Well, one day is not today,” Naerys said. “There’s little point in borrowing trouble.”

Chin resting on one fist, Steve fell into silence.

“Serious thoughts,” Keladry said. She was inspecting her fingers, testing them tenderly, and Steve spied a few pinpricks of blood on her thumb. “What brought them on?”

“My inability to let things lie,” Steve said, half joking.

“It isn’t too late to go our separate ways,” Keladry said. “My situation -”

“No,” Steve said, as if stating an immutable fact. “I don’t understand their problem with women as warriors.”

“It is the way it is, and the way it will always be,” Keladry said.

“If the truth comes out, we’ll deal with it,” Naerys said. “But there’s no point in borrowing trouble.”

“Yeah, what Naerys said,” Steve said. “I’ve had comrades marked by stranger things than their gender.”

“From what tales we’ve heard of your home, I can’t disagree,” Keladry said. “I still owe you the rest of my own tale, but perhaps we could share stories, when we are on the road once more?”

“I think I’d like that,” he said.

“I would say it time to make for the tavern soon,” Naerys said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He took another glance at his sketchbook, and carefully tore the page out. “Robin! Toby!”

At his call, the boys tumbled back into the antechamber. They had changed from the nicer clothes they had worn to the archery into something more suitable for an evening at a tavern.

“You did well today, Robin,” Steve said. “It’s not a Sand Steed, but I wanted to give you this.” He held out the sketch he had banged out, and Robin accepted it carefully.

His eyes widened. “Steve, this…”

Toby went up on his tiptoes to peer at it, while Keladry and Naerys rose and stepped behind him to see it. They made impressed sounds as they beheld it.

“It’s just something I sketched up,” Steve said. It was of Robin, standing in a field as he drew back a bow, aiming at something out of sight. A look of focus was on his face, and he’d tried to make it look like he was seconds from loosing his arrow.

“Thank you,” Robin said. He held the sketch like it was made of glass.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said.

“I’ll show you how to keep it undamaged,” Naerys said, taking the sketch from him.

“Tavern now?” Toby asked. “‘S late enough.”

“Tavern,” Steve agreed after glancing at the other adults. The boys whooped and immediately headed for the door.

“If you give me your dessert, maybe I’ll let you have a sip of my Arbor Gold,” Robin said to Toby.

Toby hissed at Robin, but was clearly considering it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Keladry said. Her voice followed them out the door as they darted away.

They moved quickly to avoid being left behind, but all were in good cheer. Another night amongst friends beckoned.

X x X

Although it was only late afternoon, there was still a sizeable crowd filling the tavern when they arrived. Light still shone through the high, smoke darkened windows, and the bard from the other night was also present, absently strumming his lute while he carried on a conversation.

Steve gave a sharp, piercing whistle, drawing every eye in the tavern, many wincing and scowling. He held up a gold coin for all to see. “A drink for everyone here, in the name of Robin Longstride and his third place in the archery!”

Scowls turned to cheers, and a small horde stormed the barkeep. Steve flicked the coin across the room towards the besieged man, and he caught it expertly.

Their usual table was free, and they made themselves comfortable. A serving girl saw to them quickly, faster than what other tables Steve could see, but he kept his thoughts to himself, and soon they had hot food and cool drinks before them.

The afternoon light had faded when Lyanna joined them, the tavern now lit by lanterns. Again, Steve scarcely noticed her until she was almost upon them, and even then it was because she was sneaking up on Robin, who was sitting across the table from him.

“Hello,” she chirped, right next to Robin’s ear.

Robin jumped, startled, but quickly moved along the bench to make room for her. “Hey,” he said, taking a pull from his mug.

“Lyanna,” Steve said by way of greeting.

“Milord,” she said.

“Steve is fine.”

“Milord Steve.”

Steve sighed, before narrowing his eyes. Lyanna smiled at him innocently.

“Have you ordered?” Keladry asked of her.

“I ate with the servants before coming,” Lyanna said.

Keladry frowned as she inspected her, her prominent collar bones showing through a thin dress that was likely the best one she owned. “You’ll have more. Vegetables, too.”

“It’s no trouble sir,” Lyanna said.

“Don’t bother arguin’,” Toby said, gloomy. “There’s no escapin’ vegetables once Kedry get’s that look in his eye.”

Keladry was already waving over a serving girl, and in short order another plate was procured, along with a tankard of milk. Lyanna hesitated only for a moment, and as conversation picked up around the table once more, dug in quickly.

The night deepened, and more customers arrived. When they had first started visiting the tavern at the beginning of the tournament, they had been almost exclusively of the lower end of the social ladder, but now Steve was noticing a scattering of men that were of visibly greater means.

“Looks like the Hall is getting more popular,” Steve said to Naerys. The rumble of the tavern was loud enough that he had to raise his voice slightly.

“Because you attend every night rather than visit the feasting hall,” Naerys said, flicking her braid back over her shoulder. “Not to mention everyone who saw you eating here with a Baratheon and a pair of Starks.”

“I’m not offending the hosts by that, am I?” Steve asked. He didn’t think he was, given Naerys hadn’t warned him, but even so.

Naerys took on a supremely satisfied look. “You were insulted by guests of the Whents, and departed. The Whents turned them out of their castle proper, but they have not apologised, so you have not returned. The burden is on them, not you.”

“So...by not attending feasts, I’m putting Hayford and his pals in the hole?” Steve asked, not sure if he should be amused or not.

“Deeper by the day,” Naerys said. She took a sip of her wine, a rich red liquid.

“How about that,” he said, shaking his head. “Speaking of Baratheon.” He nodded towards another table, where he could see the big man drinking with another man, one with red hair and a familiar face.

“I’m surprised to see a Lord Paramount here,” Naerys said.

“Who’s that with him?”

“Jon Connington,” Keladry answered, having overheard. “He’s in the melee tomorrow too. One of Lord Robert’s bannermen.”

“Ah,” Steve said, remembering where he had seen the man before. “I think I’ll go say hello.” Their table lacked the space to seat the two men, especially as they were clad in bulky gambesons with their swords at their hips. “Don’t start any trouble while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Naerys said, toasting him.

Steve stepped clear of the table, heading to where Robert and Jon sat towards the middle of the tavern. As he neared, the bigger man saw him, and his eyes lit up.

“Rogers!” he called. “Join us!”

“Baratheon,” Steve said, taking a seat at an unoccupied side of the table. “Connington.”

“Rogers,” Connington said. His moustache and beard were just as red as his head, and his tone was polite, but no more.

“Bah, call me Robert,” the storm lord said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Both men had mugs of ale, but just the one. “You’ve been doing good things for Ned, or so I hear.”

“Call me Steve then,” he said. “And I don’t know about that.”

“He needs a bit of a kick in the pants sometimes, and Brandon tells me you’ve been giving it to him,” Robert said.

“A push onto the dancefloor maybe, but that’s all,” Steve said.

“I’m glad I was here to see it,” Robert said. He shook his head. “Barely a whisper of interest in the ladies of the Vale, and the moment he sees his Dornish lady…”

“What brings you here tonight?” Steve asked.

Robert pulled a face. “My fault, I’m afraid,” he said, waving to Connington as he took a pull of his ale.

“The mystery knight with the Laughing Tree sigil didn’t appear today,” Connington said. “Robert thought that perhaps the reason they couldn’t be found was that they were hiding behind noble privilege where men-at-arms couldn’t search.”

“Did you have any luck?” Steve asked.

“No,” Robert said, blowing out a great breath. “It was a foolish thought, really. I think I upset my great aunt looking about, too. I’ll be hearing about that for years.”

Connington winced. “I fear no lady, but that woman…”

Robert made a noise of agreement, gaze going distant, as if remembering some great trauma.

“I hope your searching won’t leave you tired for tomorrow,” Steve said.

“No fear,” Robert said, grinning. “It will take more than that to slow me down. I could drink you under the table tonight and throw you out of the ring tomorrow.”

Connington shook his head, but kept silent.

“Is that a challenge?” Steve asked. “I’ll take you both on.”

Barking out a laugh, Robert shook his head. “You don’t lack for confidence, that’s for sure. But no, I’ll want a clear head tomorrow. There’s not a man in the melee not worth the fight, and I want to remember my victory.”

“High praise,” Connington said, his tone at odds with his words.

Robert flashed him a quick grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve fought another man with a hammer, too,” he said to Steve.

“I hope you don’t expect much beyond ‘hit the other guy really hard’,” Steve said. “I’m still new to the weapon.”

“Isn’t that all there is to it?” Robert asked, fake puzzlement on his face. “Maybe I’ll show you a thing or two afterwards, and you can pay for my victory drinks.”

“Or you can show me a thing or two, while you pay for mine,” Steve said, earning a loud laugh in response.

“If ever there was a Baratheon, it is Robert,” Connington said, raising his mug.

“Could be the mystery knight has left entirely,” Steve said, bringing the conversation back on track. “I don’t imagine they wanted to stick around after upsetting the king.”

“Could be,” Robert said, not particularly invested. “Finding them would have been a hell of a thing, but the important matter is the melee tomorrow.” He almost seemed about to continue, only to think better of it.

“It’s quite the prize,” Connington said. “Perhaps not so large to a Lord Paramount, but to me, and especially to you, Rogers…”

“Not quite so small I’d say no to it,” Robert said.

“Have you thought what you might spend it on?” Connington continued. “You’ve already won some five thousand for yourself in the axe throwing.”

“I’ll probably put it all in the Iron Bank before anything else, but I might buy a boat, or a ship,” Steve said. “I’ve always enjoyed traveling to new places. I’ve been thinking about repairing my shield, too.”

“I heard about that shield,” Robert said. “It is said to have been split by a mighty blow.”

Steve’s mouth thinned. “It was.”

“Would have to be quite a foe to manage that,” Robert said, watching him closely. Connington eyed them both.

“He was.”

“Dead then?”

“Very.”

Robert leaned back at the satisfaction in Steve’s voice. “To dead foes,” he said, raising his mug.

Steve inclined his head, but said nothing. He glanced back at his friends; they seemed to be getting along fine.

“I had heard that your shield was made from star metal, or the like,” Connington said, scratching at his beard.

“I suppose that’s what you would call it here,” Steve said.

“Not the most common material,” Connington said.

“Even if I found some here, it wouldn’t be the same,” Steve said. “I’d settle for a steel cap of sorts, just for the extra coverage.”

“Could likely get that done here,” Robert said. “The smiths are skilled enough.”

“After the melee, maybe,” Steve said, noncommittal.

Robert looked into his empty mug, but shook his head. “If I have another I’ll be here all night,” he said.

Connington drained his own mug, setting it down on the table.

“I’ll see you both in the morning then,” Steve said.

“Best rest up,” Robert said with a grin, as he rose from his seat. “You’ll need it.”

Steve smiled, but held his tongue, and gave a nod to Connington as he followed Robert. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

He returned to his companions, sliding back into his seat as if he’d never left, and joined the conversation easily. Robin was doing his best to wheedle a cup of good wine out of Naerys, and he laughed as Lyanna joined in on her teasing of him. Tomorrow would come soon enough, but for now, there was still tonight to enjoy.